


The World Stops (When You Come This Near)

by NoelleAngelFyre



Category: The Flash (TV 2014), The Flash - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Sex, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Light Banter/Snark, M/M, Not Legends of Tomorrow Compliant, Possessive Barry Allen, Possessive Leonard Snart, Prison, Prison Sex, The Flash (TV 2014) Season 4, coldflash - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-24 05:01:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30067035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoelleAngelFyre/pseuds/NoelleAngelFyre
Summary: Lost in sweet sensation, Barry doesn’t notice the approaching footsteps of the midnight shift on count.  He does, however, take notice when a flashlight shines directly on his face.“Allen?  Allen!” it’s one of the newer additions; Len told him, on the first day, rookies always end up on the midnight shift, “Allen, where’s Snart?  You got him in there?”The double entendre is beyond Barry’s capacity to pass up. “Yeah,” he says, acutely aware of how breathless and enthralled his voice sounds, “I got him in here.”_______________________________________________________________________In which Barry finds that, even when framed and imprisoned for a crime he didn't commit, there is solace to be found.  (AU of season 4)
Relationships: Barry Allen/Leonard Snart
Comments: 4
Kudos: 71





	The World Stops (When You Come This Near)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Count](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7347910) by [dragonspell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonspell/pseuds/dragonspell). 



> This idea came about in two stages: the first was reading dragonspell's luscious ColdWave fic "Count" and the second was a growing interest in the FOX series "Prison Break" mixed with righteous indignation for the writer's decision to have history repeat itself and toss Barry in the clink.
> 
> If I happen to get requests to continue this AU idea, I will likely consider it. As of right now, this is just a one-off idea. I planned to post it after my move next week, but I'm snowed in from work and this just seemed like a smexy way to start off the week. :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.
> 
> Title is from Ashley Serena's "In Your Arms."

The prison mattress is thin, a little less comfortable than a hospital bed, and his head is pressing dangerously close to the metal frame, but all Barry _really_ feels are Len’s cool fingers, spidery and splayed, along his inner thigh and the lowest span of his belly, and his mouth ( _especially_ his mouth) showing tenderness to the quivering muscles of his chest.

Barry could call it ‘uncharacteristic,’ this tenderness and delicacy, but it really isn’t. Not for them, anyway. To anyone else in this concrete scab of existence, definitely. But here, in their shared cell where reality is expressly _un_ invited, tenderness abounds. It flourishes in the quiet moments, the way Len permits Barry to use his thighs as a pillow or loosely entwines their fingers in a semi-awkward grasp between top and bottom bunks, and thrives in midnight intimacy, in moments such as this one, this night, when Len buries himself impossibly deep _after_ spending way more time than strictly necessary to open Barry up for him.

He’s told Len, so many times that he’s now lost count, that he doesn’t need all the prep. Told him that getting hit with the cold gun hurts worse than being stretched open by Len’s impressive equipment (and yes, he’s said as much in as many words, because he can afford to stroke Len’s ego as much as he does any other part of him), but Len insists that – whatever else they do to each other outside the cold confines of Iron Heights – this will be the one act in which he does _not_ hurt Barry.

This declaration, naturally, neatly drags the act out of simple fucking, out of basic stress relief, and into a form of love-making that breaks Barry apart far more effectively than the most animalistic forms of sex ever could.

Lost in sweet sensation, Barry doesn’t notice the approaching footsteps of the midnight shift on count. He does, however, take notice when a flashlight shines directly on his face.

“Allen? Allen!” it’s one of the newer additions; Len told him, on the first day, rookies always end up on the midnight shift, “Allen, where’s Snart? You got him in there?”

The double entendre is beyond Barry’s capacity to pass up. “Yeah,” he says, acutely aware of how breathless and enthralled his voice sounds, “I got him in here.”

The smirk he feels pressed to the side of his left nipple drags Barry’s mouth into a loose grin. It’s always nice to have someone else in on the same joke.

“I need to see him.” Barry’s not really listening at this point, which he thinks can be excused considering the things various parts of Len’s anatomy are doing between his legs, “Hey! I need to see him! Snart!”

The light whirls around the cell: shades of white-gold dancing before Barry’s unfocused vision, “Snart, I haven’t got time for this!”

Barry feels the sheet covering them (Len more than Barry) shift with a sudden move, and then Len emerges to brace himself semi-upright, arms caging Barry in place – like he’s going anywhere – naked and with the devil’s smirk on his face.

“Believe me, Officer,” Len’s voice is still a little rough from the bout of foreplay earlier, a lovely little affair which started as shameless teasing in the showers and turned into Len’s mouth working Barry like it was his single goal in life to siphon every last brain cell out of Barry’s cock, “I have _no_ plans to be anywhere else tonight.”

The rookies, as Barry has personally learned, are always the ones who don’t know just how to react when they happen upon such circumstances as these. Granted, common sense would dictate a person just go on their merry way and either drown themselves in whiskey to purge the memory or jerk off to it – whichever it the personal preference. Barry has learned, mostly through Len’s helpful insider tips and his own awareness, which guards are guilty of which preference.

He can’t be sure which one this guy is because Len yanks the sheet up entirely to cover them both in a hazy cloud of off-white before things go dark again. His hips shift, ever so slightly to one side, and Barry loses a long moan. It isn’t quiet, by any means, but Barry doesn’t bother to be quiet. He tried at first, he really did, but one thing led to another during a rather inspiring evening romp and he just wasn’t responsible for himself after Len found out how sensitive his nipples are. A couple guys had a dreadful lapse in judgment and made a point to publicly ask Len about when he’d be ‘sharing the goods’.

They were released from the hospital wing a week or so later and no one’s tried the same thing twice. Barry is quite aware that they talk – it’s prison, there’s nothing to do _but_ run the mouth – but it doesn’t matter. They can say anything they want, just so long as they don’t _ever_ try to shove an unwanted path into this glorious sanctuary.

“ _Oh_ …Len.” Barry hasn’t technically heard the guard walk away, but if he wants a show, it’s free admittance tonight, “ _Mmm_ …yeah.”

“Yeah?” Len is all purring satisfaction and greedy hands mapping the length of Barry’s thighs, “Like that?”

“ _Just_ like that…” long legs loop higher at Len’s waist, find a comfortable settlement above the hips; Barry locks ankles right over the flexing muscles, trapping Len very much without protests, “ _Exactly_ like that, baby.”

They stop talking after that. Well, kind of. Beyond breathless moans of _more_ and _right there_ and _harder, don’t stop, harder_ , it’s mostly broken versions of each other’s names. Otherwise, they’ve generally lost grasp of the English language.

Barry hears as much as feels Len’s tight moans, buried in the crook of his throat, and purrs at the possessive clench of those elegant hands around his skin. More’s the pity, the bruises never last – but damned if Barry doesn’t _feel_ it as muscle memory, buried deep in a place where even his regenerating cells can’t reach.

He’s close. Barry knows he’s close, and this is the moment he lives for, truly: the moment Len is teetering on the edge, so close it must be painful, and Barry allows himself to loosen the self-imposed reins. He _vibrates_ , every inch of his body, and Len lets out a sound that almost isn’t human. If the rookie _is_ still loitering, he’s getting an earful.

“God _damn_ it, Barry, I…” Len trails off in half-formed obscenities and other similar endearments, hips rutting into Barry like they’re collectively in heat and going to _die_ without an orgasm. Frankly, the more they do this, the more Barry starts to think that might be a little too close to the truth.

“Yeah…yeah, do it.” Barry breathes low and hot against his ear, “Do it, baby. I want it. You _know_ I want it.”

‘It’ covers a broad range of subjects these days, but he doesn’t elaborate. Len knows.

Len teases him on occasion for being easy, and maybe he is. In the end, all it takes is the sinful delight of feeling Len spill inside him matched with the impossibly soft brush of lips to his in a kiss which, though hardly salacious by comparison, says _so much more_ than words or a hot-and-heavy make-out session ever could. Barry comes untouched, a broken moan lost against the tender heat of Len’s mouth, with fingers digging so deep in his lover’s back that there will definitely be marks in the morning.

“You need to watch that.” Len mutters, sounding far too coherent for someone who just came off like a nuclear bomb. “Leaving marks when we’re in here…I’ve taught you better than that.”

“I don’t leave them on your neck anymore,” Barry rolls his eyes and carefully stretches his lower half; the residual soreness is already fading, “Besides…you could do with a couple reminders of who you belong to in here.”

“Possessive, Scarlet?”

“For you?” the sheet slipped down when Len pulled out and settled beside him on the cot, and Barry calmly reaches down to yank it back overhead, “Always.”

The act shrouds them entirely in darkness, but Barry isn’t afraid of the dark. Not anymore.

In this darkness, he’s never alone.


End file.
